


Those Who Wait, Chris/Karl, RPF, PG-13

by blcwriter



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: LiveJournal, M/M, fic import
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blcwriter/pseuds/blcwriter





	Those Who Wait, Chris/Karl, RPF, PG-13

A birthday fluff-let for [](http://weepingnaiad.livejournal.com/profile)[**weepingnaiad**](http://weepingnaiad.livejournal.com/) . Happy birthday, darling!

Chris/Karl, porn!fail of the fade-to-black variety, rated PG-13 for innuendo and male body-parts references. Vague references to divorce. (And pardon me for assuming _Priest_ will be bad, it may be AWESOME.  Artistic license?  Eep?!?)

\---

"So Karl-- you’ve not had quite the string of successes the last couple of films,” smirked the presenter, and Karl suppressed a groan as he segued into a discussion of his Razzies nominations for _And Soon the Darkness_ and _Priest_. He yukked it up, like he was supposed to, talked about how other straight-to-DVD releases meant that they captured the Netflix-streaming and cult markets all that more quickly, all that good-hearted jive but goddamnit....

Some days.

Something of it must have shown in his less-than-sparkling banter, though, because Craig pulled a kind of a grimace as he consulted his notecards and said “Well, though, you’ve got _Trek_ , what, it’s the third one, now, coming out in just three months? The trailers don’t say much.”

That brought a real smile to Karl’s face.

“Yeah. It’s, well, you know J.J. and secrets,” he said, leaning back in his chair, feeling more at his ease, and Ferguson laughed, “but I can say this one’s not so traditionally ensemble-based as the last two. It focuses more on the relationships between particular characters among the crew. It’ll be interesting, because it’s there’s an overarching plot, the alien drama they have to solve, but there’s a whole lot of subplots that happen as well, not necessarily backstory, but things that have to happen for the characters to move forward as people.”

“Will there be a love interest for McCoy? Or even for you, Karl?” The Scotsman waggled his eyebrows mock-lasciviously. “The lovely Nurse Chapel, perhaps? It must be nice to work with Rosamund on a semi-regular basis again, I know you two are great friends.”

Karl felt a laugh burst out of his chest and suppressed his first response, that it’d be gross to have to kiss a woman who felt like his sister on screen. _Build mystery,_ J.J. had said. Besides, the way she and Anton had shacked up... it wasn’t Harold and Maude, but they sure made the most of their respective sexual peaks.

“There are going to be love interests for several major crew members, including McCoy, though the getting there won’t be easy and that’s part of the tension in this movie-- just because it’s the future doesn’t mean human nature’s totally smoothed out, you see, we'll be echoing contemporary issues since that's one of the things sci fi does so well, gives us a window to look at difficult social issues. Though Spock and Uhura will still be together, I can say that much,” he added, miming a kiss and “Hi, Zoe,” at the camera as always he did, since she always did the same for him, lovely girl.

It got better after that, and while Ferguson twitted him on his penchant for comic-book movies-- “Look, Craig, anyone in Hollywood knows I’m that easy, throw me a script from a graphic novel or a video game and I’m a goner, I don’t really care, and I’d be done if they ever re-made Star Wars. I don’t care who I’d have to sleep with if I could just play Han Solo.”

Craig laughed long and loud, made some joke about George Lucas needing to watch out in dark alleys or some such that had the whole audience laughing, and then they talked kids and New Zealand and real football, no American garbage despite Karl’s change of address, that and compared drinking (and non-drinking in Craig’s case) locales for watching games at midday in L.A. when it wasn’t possible to get all the way home and one’s iPad didn’t carry all the sport channels.

And then it was finally over, and Karl heaved a sigh, rubbed at the stupid concealer that’d been sending perfume-y fumes into his eyes the whole time. “Ech,” he said, then heaved himself out of the chair.

“Sorry, mate, about the...” Craig said, looking awkward as he came out from behind the host’s desk.

Karl waved him off. “I make stinkers sometimes. It’s your job to be funny.”

Craig made a face as he looked down at whatever cards he had to work from and said … “I shouldn’tve gone there with the Razzies. Sorry. Those were back when...”

Karl waved him off again. “Family shit’s one thing. I’ve made bad films my whole life, mate. No worries.” He put on a grin, then extended his hand. “Tell you what. The next _Trek_ ’s gonna be a doozy, both on a film and an interpersonal level. You can have me back then in the first round of P.R. to make up for my shitty demeanour. I’ll tell J.J.”

Craig smiled and shook hands, slapped him once on the back and agreed with no false enthusiasm-- a reason Karl liked him since unlike so many, Ferguson wasn’t a phony. Though he wasn’t above pressing-- scoops were his job.

“What kind of doozy?” he asked, fluttering his lashes. Completely ridiculous, that.

“Forget it, Craig. You’re not my type.”

Craig laughed and clouted Karl on the shoulder. “I suppose I’ll have to wait?”

Karl nodded and smiled. “Good things come to those who do.”

\--

The house was dark in front when he pulled up, but then, it was two o’clock in the morning. The light in the kitchen and back hallway was on, though, and he pulled the car into the garage, clicking the alarm over his shoulder as the garage door automatically closed behind him.

The weight of the day and the half-crap interview fell off as he climbed up the steps, dropped his keys in the bowl inside the door, toed off his shoes.

“Hey, Jabba,” he greeted the rescue basset hound who only lifted his head from his bed next to the couch for a second to make sure it was Karl before blinking his eyes shut again. “Some guard dog you are.”

Jabba wheezed out a snore.

He padded back to the kitchen, poured himself a half-glass of water, drank it, and turned off the light before heading back to the bedroom-- to be greeted by a welcome, but hilarious sight.

Chris was standing in the doorway clad in--

“Is that-- what? A Tai Chi outfit? And white tube socks?” Seriously, those pants were blousing out at the knee something ridiculously.

“Fuck you, it’s from a karate movie I made that went straight to DVD, you cocksucker, you're not the only one who makes terrible movies” Chris huffed, then self-consciously fussed with the black leather belt he’d slung on his waist. He then shifted the replica lightsaber Karl’d bought at his first Dragon Con.

“But what if I don’t want you to go to Tashi Station?” Karl managed, though he couldn’t stifle the giggle, because really, Chris was growing his hair out for a part and he’d pushed it all down and gotten it all mussy, but his pout was _far_ more pretty than anything Mark Hammill could ever come up with.

“Then I guess you’ll have to come up with some better chore for me to do here on the ship, Han,” Chris pouted. “Maybe I can make sure your gun’s properly greased? I know how important it is to make sure it doesn’t misfire...”

He blinked wide blue eyes at Karl while Karl tried to muster the appropriate role-playing gruff, but really, if this was what he was going to get to come home to until after the movie premiered and the relative fuss of his divorce and oh, yeah, Hollywood’s first on-screen gay couple in a major studio franchise (and off, and hadn’t J.J. nearly plotzed when they’d met to tell him that they were making Kirk/McCoy come to life in reality, too) had had time to sink into the public’s consciousness-- well.

Good things came to those who waited. Yeah. And in the meantime, they kept it quiet, were “best buddies” and if there were rumors, well, it was Hollywood. There always were rumors.

“C’mere, you,” he said, launching his best off-sides tackle to shove Chris onto the bed. The lightsaber got tossed over his shoulder along with the belt and the awful tube socks. “Maybe I wanna grease your gun, yeah?”

Chris, twisty bastard that he was, executed some karate-like move and flipped Karl onto his back, staring down at him with a wide smile and those crinkled eyes that slayed Karl every damned time. It was a nice move, hunh. Guess the kid wasn’t lying-- Karl’d have to review the DVD catalogue a little more carefully.

Chris leaned down and kissed him teasingly, grinding his cock into Karl’s. “I think that can be arranged.” And he did. Unlike their IMDB histories, there were no misfires at all.  



End file.
